


A Fallen Hero

by RosieWhite



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-25 09:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10761819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieWhite/pseuds/RosieWhite
Summary: Peter's hunting Neal down but begins to battle with his conscience. After all the years of playing the game with his adversary, when he finally zones in on Neal Caffrey, will he be able to put him behind bars? Does the law fit into black and white categories like he’s always believed or is it filled with shades of grey?





	1. Chapter 1

Agent Burke had just received a call from local authorities informing him that Neal Caffrey’s DNA had been found at a scene of a robbery. It looked like a team had hit a high end jewellery store on the outskirts of town during the night. Peter had been obsessed with catching the elusive conman for years but Caffrey is as clever as they come, he was always playing the game ten steps ahead of everyone else. It surprised Peter that Caffrey would be this sloppy and leave his DNA, but then again every criminal slips up eventually, this was inevitable. 

His sole motivation for the years of mind numbing stake outs, the countless evenings spent chasing up leads, was imagining the day where he could finally click into place a set of cuffs around Neal Caffrey’s wrists. Now he has evidence solidly cementing Neal to a crime, he’s one step closer to that day. He should be feeling happy, satisfied that his diligence has paid off, but he’s plagued by another feeling. The reality is setting in that Neal Caffrey’s life is finally catching up with him and he has to be the one to drag him down from the clouds.

Truth be told, he’d grown fond of the kid. His daring heists were true works of art. He revelled the days when one of Caffrey’s cases crossed his desk and he could immerse himself in the conman’s creativity, discovering the intricate details that fell perfectly into place, blurring the line between impossible and possible.

It wasn’t just his intellect that gave Peter a soft spot for him. Over time he found his perception of Neal changing. When once he thought the man to be nothing but a callous thief, occasionally, when his world brushed with Neal’s and he found himself up close to the conman, he would see a glimpse past his mask. Peter had come to believe that Neal cared deeper than what he allowed people to believe. Through the years of investigating him, he noticed certain trends in his cases. Neal never scammed people who couldn’t afford it and quite frankly didn’t deserve it. His cons would never involve violence, from the look of it Neal had a real distaste for violence. He was just chasing the challenge, looking for something to fully captivate his mind. Locking him up would be such a waste of potential, but maybe prison will be the kick he needs to knock him out of this life and set him on a better path.

Peter arrived at the impressive jewellery store, he wasn’t surprised that Caffrey had hit it, the jewels it housed he had no doubt would be worth a small fortune. He was met at the entrance by a couple of local NYPD officers who had already combed through the crime scene. As Peter was led through to the back, the cops began bringing him up to speed with their findings, he was only half listening.

“The alarm has been on all night, if there was even an inch off movement in the building, law enforcement would have been here within 5 minutes.”

“There is nothing on the security cameras…”

Peter knew if Neal was behind this, they wouldn’t find anything. His attention drifted to all the exquisite gems he found himself walking past, puzzled as to why they were left behind. He was brought up a few flights of stairs and ushered into a room accommodating a recently emptied safe, Neal’s role in this particular felony instantly dawning on him.

“ _So this is what he came for._ ” Peter thought to himself as he studied the safe. It looked state of the art, how Neal pulled these things off was beyond him.

“As you can imagine the owner is quite distraught that someone managed to get into his safe, said the gems in there were priceless,” one of the officers chipped in.

“You said a team hit the store, what makes you think it was a team?” Peter asked. As far as he knew, Neal worked alone. He presumed it was an obsessive trait of Neal’s. To be that good, you had to be a little obsessive. Working on your own ultimately meant less chance of getting caught. The less players involved, the less uncontrollable variables at play, not to mention the less people who can rat you out.

An uneasy look cast itself over the two men and they shifted to one side revealing a gruesome looking blood splatter covering the wall behind them. Peter’s heart dropped to his stomach as he replayed the conversation he had on the phone earlier in the day,

“ _Neal Caffrey’s DNA has been found at a crime scene_.”

He fought a wave a nausea at the sight of the vibrant crimson stain, undoubtably Neal’s blood, soaking the wall. Peter had never been more desperate to know exactly where the young man was. He had always feared that one day Neal’s quick wit and silver tongue wouldn’t be enough, ultimately, you couldn't talk yourself out the way of a moving bullet.

“We’re working the theory that things went sour, whether they planned to double cross him from the beginning or something went down between them that led to this, we’re unsure. It looks like the guy didn’t see it coming though.”

Peter followed the heavy blood trail through the building, playing out the scenario in his head. Neal frantically searching for a way out, starting to lose grip on his awareness, his senses dulled from the blood loss. A sense of relief washed over Peter as he turned a corner and realised the blood trail abruptly stopped. Neal must have been coherent enough to realise he needed to stop the bleeding, if he could follow Neal’s footsteps then so could the men intent on killing him.

The relief was short lived as his gaze shifted to the floor, noticing a phone on the ground sitting next to an evidence tag. He crouched down, taking out a pair of gloves from his suit jacket, he picked the phone up and began to search it. The call history was empty, but one simple text sent to an unknown number shot a cold shiver down his spine.

“ _S.O.S_ ”

It didn’t take long for Peter to figure out what led Neal to drop it, walking further down the dimly lit corridor it soon turned into a scene from a massacre, the walls littered with bullet holes. Peter’s gut twisted as he saw another evidence tag halfway up the hall surrounded by a pool of blood.

“How much more can this kid take?”  Peter muttered to himself feeling sick to his stomach.

The three men reached the end of the corridor, a window completely smashed out illuminated the depth of destruction set upon the hall. The men stood in silence, all clearly affected by the degree of violence.

One of the officers interrupted the solemn mood, “The blood trail stops here, it’s as if your guy just vanished into thin air.” 

Peter scrutinised his surroundings. Neal could have either turned left or right at the end of the corridor. But neither showed any sign of disturbance. There would most definitely be blood whichever way Neal took and there were no bullet holes in sight in either direction. Peter’s blood ran cold as his eyes caught red stains marking the few remaining shards of glass in the window, realisation hitting him like a physical blow.

“He jumped out the window.” Peter stated.

The officers sneered at Peter’s revelation in disbelief. “Why would he jump out the window? We're three floors up.”

"Because that was his only option.”


	2. Chapter 2

Neal’s heart is pounding, exploding pain radiates through his chest as he staggers to the end of the corridor. He risks a quick look behind him to find a trail of blood following him, his eyes follow the trail up to the bloody hand he’s placed over the hole in his chest, failing to stop the blood from gushing out. Realising he is leading them right to him, he tears part of his shirt off and, taking every ounce of strength he has left to hold back his scream, he presses it hard against the bullet wound. The world goes white for a few seconds, he leans heavily on the wall behind him as he rides out the wave of pain.

Even if he makes it out of the building, he’s not going to make it far in his condition, his movements are becoming more and more uncoordinated and he’s getting really tired, he’s finding it hard to think clearly and if he's going to get through this mess he needs his A game. Wasn’t there some code word Mozzie had conjured up for these types of, Murphy's Law, situations? If only he could remember it. He clumsily takes his phone from his pocket, types out a standard ‘SOS’ and sends it to a number that he hopes Moz is still using.

Neal is knocked from his thoughts by shouting that quickly escalates to gunfire. A rush of adrenaline pulses through his veins as bullets start flying past him and ricocheting off the walls. He darts down the corridor helplessly looking for shelter, to no avail. He’ll barely make it to the end of this hallway let alone out of the building.

He quickly formulates a rough plan B in his head but is thrown to the floor as a bullet connects with his shoulder, a searing pain spreads through his upper arm. With the orchestra of bullets failing to stop, Neal throws himself up as fast as he can and continues to sprint towards the end of the corridor. As he gets closer he notices the glass of a window has been fractured due to the gunfire, which is exactly what he was counting on. He really doesn't like what’s next but it’s better than the alternative. Neal runs flat out at the window, bullets continue to weaken the glass. As soon as he is close enough he propels himself into it, pulling his arms up to his face, bracing himself for the impending impact. So hyped up on adrenaline, he hardly feels the glass slicing through he arms as the window completely shatters and he finds himself free falling through the air. Having been on the third floor he wasn’t looking forward to the landing. He hits the ground hard knocking all the air out of his lungs. He struggles to gasp for air as pain erupts through his side. Knowing that he has only bought himself seconds before the bullets start flying in his direction again, he unsteadily hoists himself up and limps round the side of the building towards the car park.

Neal finds an old truck and makes quick work of the door’s lock. He heaves himself into the driver’s seat, every muscle in his body screaming at him for the over exertion. He yanks the wires out from under the steering wheel getting ready to hot wire it. Gunfire once again erupts from behind him, his heart rate surges as bullets blast through the truck’s windows. The two wires he’s been so desperately willing to connect begin to spark between his fingers and the engine ignites. He hastily slams his foot on the accelerator, the engine roars to life, the tires screech against the gravel and he’s flung into the back of his seat as the truck launches into action and speeds off. Neal lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as the gunshots become fainter and begin to merge with the background noise. With one hand on the wheel and the other cradling his blood soaked chest, Neal drives.

With Neal’s supply of adrenaline diminishing, exhaustion begins to dictate his movements, he has no escape from the pain threatening to consume him. He focuses on the increasingly blurred headlights of the oncoming traffic as he fights against the lure of unconsciousness. Neal is thrown from his haze by a shift in gravity, he startles at the realisation that he has veered off the road and is now violently heading down the uneven terrain surrounding the highway. Panic starts to rise within his chest as he struggles to regain control of the truck, his fear reaches new heights when he sees the truck heading straight for a tree. Before he has time to react, the truck smashes directly into the tree coming to an immediate halt. Neal is forcefully thrown forward, his head collides with the steering wheel and explodes into stars. Breathtaking pain seethes through every inch of his body tethering him to consciousness. His breathing becomes more laboured with every painstaking breath he manages to take, within seconds the last of his stamina abandons him and he succumbs to the inviting oblivion.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days had gone past since Peter got the call alerting him to the robbery. Three days waiting for news to filter through his contacts. Three nights of restless sleep, teased by nightmares of the ill-fated Neal Caffrey.

Peter had scoured all his resources trying to find information on Neal, desperate to know the condition of the man. He knew Neal had managed to get away in a truck but his fear only deepened when they came upon its wreckage wrapped around a tree off the highway, the only evidence of Neal being there was the vast amount of his blood left behind. He was sure the stomach turning image would be haunting his dreams in the nights to come. 

He knew Neal would need serious medical attention and fast, the fact that none of the gunshot victims admitted to any close hospitals matched Neal’s description did nothing to sooth his nerves. It meant that he either didn’t make it to a hospital, Peter quickly pushed that thought out of his mind, or he was being patched up by God knows who with God knows what medical equipment. 

It frustrated him that Neal’s choice of life meant dealing with thugs like this on a regular occurrence, where he would have to dance to the tune of a puppet master, all the while maintaining a cool facade, knowing that one tiny falter in the act would almost certainly result in a bullet to the head.  Peter caught himself wondering just how many times a job had gone south for Neal. How many times had he walked the halls of an emergency room with an assumed name, or relied on just a few aspirins to get him through his battle wounds? 

The lead came midway through the third day. One of Peter’s contacts heard chatter of a payment going down for some very high value diamonds. That evening Peter found himself cooped up in the van with half a dozen other agents waiting for the exchange to take place outside a warehouse. They were parked up in an almost deserted parking lot, with only a few empty cars keeping them company.

At approximately 9:45pm two men, rather fittingly dressed in head to toe black, strolled up to the warehouse and entered it. The tension in the van mounted with every minute that passed until the officers noticed activity at the entrance of the warehouse. The two men who had entered moments earlier were now exiting, one holding a large briefcase. Peter gave the take down signal, at once, the officers swarmed out of the van, guns at the ready. The two men resembled deer caught in headlights as they startled at the commotion. 

“Get down on the ground!” the officers collectively screamed, however one of the men had other ideas and pulled for a gun tucked behind him. Within a second the desolate parking lot erupted with gunfire, followed by immediate silence as the man fell to his knees and toppled over. His assailant stared at his lifeless body in complete shock of the sudden events while a couple of officers swooped in to handcuff him. 

The warehouse was found to be empty, whoever the two guys met with must have used a different entrance, they were long gone, as were the jewels. Peter gave a deflated sigh, the exhaustion and worry of the last few days creeping up on him. He hoped he could get all the information he needed from the man in custody, else he had nothing.

***

James Khan, a person of interest in a string of thefts around New York, had a lot of explaining to do. Not only did the briefcase contain half a million dollars but he and his fallen partner, a man identified to be Craig Downes, were also found to be carrying guns matching the ballistic report from the jewellery store. Peter was looking forward to hearing his colourful spin on the events. 

A stern exterior replaced his earlier shell shocked appearance as Khan sat with his wrists stretched out in front of him cuffed to the table in the interrogation room opposite Peter. Peter’s frustration was mounting with every blank stare he got back from the uncooperative man. 

“Here’s what we know, three nights ago a team robbed a jewellery store of some very high value diamonds. Something went south between the crew which resulted in one of the member’s blood splattered across the walls,” Peter heard his voice slightly waver picturing the blood drenched scene. 

Gathering himself, he continued, “The guns found in your possession match the slugs we pulled from the walls. We also found a substantial amount of money on your person.”

“It doesn't take a rocket scientist to connect the dots here,” Peter mused. 

“You got a tip about the value of the gems in the safe, thought it would be a chance for some easy money. Only problem is safe cracking isn’t in your skill set. So you recruited a third man for the job.” 

“Any of this sounding familiar?” Peter asked. 

The man chose to maintain his unresponsive stare. 

“Once the safe was emptied…” Peter started but noticed the man’s expression change, something had shocked him. 

“ _Why would the fact the safe was empty shock him?_ ” Peter asked himself. The safe was supposed to be empty. 

Unless it wasn’t. 

Neal’s not just a thief, he’s also a damn good forger. What if the gems in the safe were planned to be replaced with fakes? 

“The safe wasn’t meant to be empty,” Peter stated, enlightened. 

Silence stretched between the two men. James’ calm demeanour was crumbling by the second. Finally coming to his decision he said, “I want a deal, you have to protect me!” 

Peter’s heart rate picked up, something had shaken James enough to ask the FBI for help. Worry filled his chest, knowing Neal’s fate was intertwined with James’. Whatever danger James was in, Neal also found himself in. 

“Talk.” Peter sternly replied. 

“Me and Craig were contacted by some people to steal the gems. They gave us half a million just like that, said we’d get another half when it was done.”

“You were right, we needed a safe cracker, so we put the word out and someone got in contact with us, said this guy called Jeremy Clarke was the best.” 

Peter didn’t recognise Jeremy Clarke as one of Neal’s aliases, but he was certain it was him. 

“He convinced us we needed fakes to swap out the real gems with, said the feds would come at us with more force if we emptied the safe.” That didn’t surprise Peter, Neal had an uncanny ability to drive events into the direction he needed them to go. 

“We got there, took some less valuable diamonds, while Jeremy worked on the safe. Once he was in and swapped the gems, we didn’t need him anymore.” He finished with a simple shrug to confirm they were the reason behind Neal’s blood soaking the walls. 

Silence once again found itself between the two men as Peter fought back a surge of anger directed at the man’s remorseless attitude. 

Regaining control of his emotions Peter asked, “So this Clarke guy double crossed you, gave you the fake gems and took the real ones?”

“That’s impossible,” James interjected. “We had them authenticated,” he stated in complete disbelief that he could have been conned out of the real diamonds. 

This surprised Peter, Neal was good, but under the appropriate scrutiny the jewels should not have held up. He made a note to follow up on the authenticator, a little skeptical of him. 

“The men who commissioned you to steal the jewels, what were their names?”

Fear once again found its way into James’ eyes and Peter got the impression that these guys were of unsavoury characters. 

James went quiet, refusing to divulge the information. Getting frustrated with his reluctance Peter said, “I can’t protect you if I don’t know who you need protecting from.” 

After some consideration, James gave in and answered, “The main guy went by the name Jonathan Tress.” Peter scribbled it down in his notebook. He had one final question he'd been afraid to ask. 

“Where is Clarke now?” 

A cold look pierced through James’ eyes. “Let’s just say he got what he deserved.” His reply sent a shudder through Peter. 

“Did you kill him?” Peter asked, a feeling of dread built in his stomach as he realised they could have easily tracked him down to the truck. 

“He took a few hits, he wouldn't have gotten far.” Peter could hear the pride seeping through his voice as he spoke. Fearing he could no longer quench his anger towards the man, he abruptly got up, muttered, “We're done here,” and left the room.

 ***

Peter paced his office trying fruitlessly to dissipate some of his anger. Jones, sensing his boss’ irritable mood, rather sheepishly knocked on his door before peaking his head round it, hesitant to go any further. 

“What is it?” Peter asked impatiently. 

“We got an alert when we ran the name Jonathan Tress.” From the grim look Jones portrayed, Peter knew it wasn't going to make the situation any better. 

“Jonathan Tress is an alias Terry Hall has been known to use,” Jones regrettably stated. 

Peter let out a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. This was definitely not good. Terry Hall had been all over most wanted lists for over a decade. He’d made a career out of mass destruction, dealing in weapons capable of bringing down armies. How on Earth has Neal Caffrey, a non violent, white collar criminal, got himself in the middle of a deal with this mercenary? He would bring the whole force of Hell down onto anyone who dare cross him. No wonder James was abundantly clear he needed protection. If he had given Hall fake gems, he would not last long and if Neal had the real gems, neither would he. 


	4. Chapter 4

Neal was skirting the edges of consciousness, riding a wave that would bring him right to the surface before pulling him back into a drug induced oblivion. Sound came back to him first and with it a sense of disorientation being unable to place himself. He noticed the hum of an air con, a faint beeping noise close to him, the pace of which rose with his panic as he attempted to draw on his vacant memory for an explanation.

A blurry figure morphed into his peripheral vision, he just about made out a voice he recognised to be Mozzie’s saying, “Sorry Neal, you need to stay sedated right now,” before he felt himself sinking back into darkness.

***

The next time Neal came to he was a bit more alert. He felt a dulled sense of pain aching through his body, presumingly being masked by some pretty heavy pain killers. The details of why he found himself lying in an unfamiliar bed with bandages covering his chest were still hazy.

When Neal opened his eyes again, he found Mozzie hovering over him, recognising his friend he croaked, “Hey Moz,” a tired smile forming across his face.

Relief flooded Mozzie, seeing Neal lucid for the first time in 3 days.

“Welcome back to the land of the living mon frère,” he replied, while holding a glass of water with a straw up for Neal to drink from.

Neal winced as he pushed himself up towards the glass, the cool water felt sacred as it ran down his parched throat.

Neal settled back down, “How long have I been out?”

“3 days,” Mozzie replied with a stern look on his face.

Neal's eyes widened in surprise, “Wh… What happened?” he asked, his memory still coming up blank.

“Does getting shot and ploughing a truck into a tree ring a bell?” 

“No, but it feels like that sounds about right.”

“Your pet fed isn’t leaving any stone unturned trying to find you, if I didn’t know him any better I’d say he’s worried about you.”

Neal closed his eyes, sinking back into his pillow, he felt weirdly comforted that Peter was looking for him so diligently. 

“Don’t worry, he won’t find us here, we’ve gone completely to ground,” Mozzie added.

“Has he figured it out?” Neal asked.

“Not yet, he thinks you got screwed over by some thugs,” Mozzie answered.

“Did it work at least?” Neal asked, worried that all this might have been for nothing.

“If you are referring to your suicidal idea to con one of the most dangerous men in the world into accepting fake diamonds, then yes, it worked. Congratulations, both our life expectancies have drastically shortened,” Mozzie fumed.

“I had to do something Moz. Hall needs to be stopped,” Neal pleaded.

“Yeah by the feds, not by us,” Mozzie retorted.

“Look it worked didn’t it?”

“Yes, but you almost died in the process!” Mozzie said, trying to get through to Neal, “And if Hall figures out they’re fakes, all the effort I’ve gone to keeping you alive these past 3 days will have been for nothing and we'll both have bullets with our names on.”

“How bad is it?” Neal asked, noticing a makeshift drip pumping a bag of blood into his arm. 

A worried look crossed Mozzie’s face, “You’ll be fine,” he said trying to shrug off his concern.

Neal let out a scoff, awakening the pain lingering under the blanket of narcotics.

“You need to work on your poker face,” he joked while trying unsuccessfully to shift into a more comfortable position.

Mozzie, seeing the pain traced over Neal’s face, came closer to plump up his pillows. “My poker face is just fine thank you. You are going to be fine, we just need to wait out the next 72 hours.”

Neal gave Mozzie a questioning look.

Mozzie sighed, he really didn’t want to get into this now.

“Moz?” Neal pressed.

“Donavon managed to stabilise you…” Mozzie started.

“Donavon?” Neal interrupted in disbelief. “You called Donavon!”

“Neal, I didn’t have much choice! You needed help and fast,” Mozzie said trying to justify himself.

Shaking the memory of finding his friend unconscious in that truck wreck, he continued, “As I was saying, Donavon managed to stabilise you for now, but you need surgery and sooner rather than later. Since the feds found your blood all over the jewellery store, they’ll be combing through the hospitals looking for gunshot victims matching your description so the hospital is out of the question right now. We just have to wait them out.” Mozzie finished, wanting to keep the details to a minimum.

Neal was silent. Mozzie could see him mulling through the information in his head.

“If the feds have my blood, it won’t matter when you get me to the hospital, with these gunshot wounds, they'll catalogue my blood anyway and the feds will be alerted.”

Both men fell silent. Mozzie noticed the pace of Neal’s heart monitor had picked up through the conversation.

“Look Neal, this entire plan hinges on you not giving yourself a stroke within the next 72 hours. You’ve done your bit, let me work out the rest, okay?”

“But Hall…” Neal protested.

“Yeah, yeah Neal, I got it.” Mozzie interrupted.

Neal reluctantly agreed to let it go, if he was being honest, the conversation had really taken it out of him. Mozzie pumped another dose of whatever it was suppressing his pain into his drip and he let it guide him into blissful sleep.

***

Neal woke to a distressed Mozzie shouting his name, he immediately felt something was wrong. If the worry etched over Mozzie’s face didn’t give it away, then the realisation that he could hardly breathe did. The heart monitor was screeching in the background as he gasped for air.

Mozzie barely containing his panic said, “That’s it, I’m not waiting any longer, I’m getting you to a hospital.”

Neal tried to object, knowing it would almost certainly result in his arrest, but his whole focus was on getting what little air he could into his lungs. Black spots began to dance around his vision as his body depleted its oxygen supply. The last thing Neal made out before he slipped back into an all too familiar slumber was Mozzie frantically on the phone to someone. 

***

He came back around to a scene of chaos. People were screaming at each other, weaving in and out of his line of sight, prodding him with things. Machines were beeping loudly around him, a man came into his eye line and shined a torch into his eyes, "Sir, can you tell me your name?”

Even if Neal could muster the energy to answer, he wouldn’t know which one of his aliases to draw on, Mozzie would know, where was Mozzie?

“It’s okay,” the doctor said reassuringly, recognising Neal’s confusion, “We need to get you up to surgery now, you’re in good hands,” he gave Neal a transparent smile that did nothing to settle his nerves before anaesthetic was pushed through his veins and he felt his loose grip on the world completely disintegrate.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter sat alone in the conference room, looking out over the city lights illuminating the skyline. He had sent his team home long ago but with little headway made in the case he’d resigned himself to another long night at the office. His thoughts turned to Neal, he couldn’t help but wonder where he was, was he still in New York? A shudder ran through him picturing the crash sight, Neal’s last known whereabouts. Somewhere along the line Peter’s intentions for finding Neal had changed, he was no longer hell bent on finding him because of his duty to arrest him, to win in the game of cat and mouse. Instead, knowing the young man was hurt and in trouble, he had this overwhelming need to protect him. Somehow through all the birthday cards and the stakeout meals delivered to him, the young thief had wormed his way into Peter’s heart, more than he would care to admit. 

His gaze turned to the cluttered evidence board, scattered with numerous notes and loose connections made throughout the case. Mug shots of James Khan, his associate, the late Craig Downes, and Terry Hall were pinned up, all centring around an image of Neal Caffrey. His eyes fell onto the photo, it was a few years old, he had taken it himself on a stakeout one evening. Neal looked as carefree as ever, dressed smartly in a pristine suit, his skin slightly bleached from the sun, probably back from one of his European escapades Peter thought to himself.

If it wasn’t for Neal Caffrey this whole case would make sense, if James and Craig had chosen any other safe cracker to rip off, it would all add up. But they didn’t just choose any old safe cracker, they had chosen Neal Caffrey. The Neal Caffrey who had evaded the FBI for years, pulled off some of the most mesmerising heists of his generation. He didn’t do anything without being certain of the outcome. Peter refused to believe that those two petty thieves had fooled the very same man. No, Neal had another motive that night, one that was worth risking his life for and Peter would spend the night delving into the enigma that was Neal Caffrey trying to figure out what it was.

The call jerked him awake, spilling half his coffee over the random papers sprayed out on the conference table. Taking a second to regain his composure, he answered, ”Burke”.

A local officer informed Peter that there had been an altercation involving Terry Hall by the docks. One of his dealings had taken a turn when he tried to pay with fake diamonds. Luckily someone had called in the suspicious activity and there were a couple of NYPD patrol cars in the area before things got violent. Terry Hall and his crew were now in custody.

Peter lit up with this new information, his thoughts were moving a thousand miles an hour as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, finally revealing the bigger picture. Neal had set Hall up through James and Craig, handing them fake diamonds that they would in turn hand over to Hall, who would use them as a payment. There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that Neal was behind the call alerting the officers to the deal going down.

Peter felt a sense of relief knowing Hall was in custody and unable to go after Neal. His only concern now was finding the young man and getting him to a hospital before he killed himself trying to evade arrest. How he was going to find him, he had no idea. He had depleted his street contacts, they all hadn’t heard a thing. If Neal Caffrey didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be found. It was as simple as that.

Giving up for the night, he thought he’d just check the latest list of gun shot victims to see if anything stuck out at him. Breezing through the list everything seemed generic, the only thing that kept niggling at the back of his brain, refusing to budge was it seemed an officer, Officer Jason Kennedy, had been shot. Peter had no reason to doubt it but his gut would not let it rest and if there was one thing he had learnt through his years as an FBI agent, it was if you have an instinctive feeling towards something, run with it. The more he thought about it, the more he thought what better way to go under the radar than disguise yourself as a cop? No one would question a cop getting shot. So he searched Jason Kennedy in the database and as soon as the search came up empty his heart started beating a little faster in his chest, how it did when he knew he was onto something. This was Neal, he could feel it, he had found him. Without a second’s thought, he hastily grabbed for his car keys.

Walking into the hospital, Peter flagged down a doctor and asked the condition of an officer named Jason Kennedy. The uneasy look the doctor returned made peter's heart jump to his throat. 

"Ahh that was a close call, it took everything we had just to stabilise him for surgery."

"He flatlined twice upon arrival, if he had gotten to us sooner it would have been easier to stabilise him, but being undercover he was taken elsewhere to be patched up. If his partner had gotten him to us any later, there would have been nothing we could have done for him, his body was shutting down, it had simply sustained too much."

"If you just wait here I'll grab his file and I can give you more specifics."

Peter’s thoughts were racing, he couldn’t grasp the gravity of the situation, Neal had almost died. His heart had stopped twice, all because he was trying to bring Terry Hall to justice. Peter guessed Neal had gotten wind that Terry Hall was in New York and looking for a score. Neal being Neal, he couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. What bothered Peter was Neal must have known he was going to get double crossed by James and Craig and he still went along with it, it meant that much to him.

The doctor came back with the file, and after perusing it for a few seconds nodded in agreement with what he had previously said about Neal's condition.

"He came in with two gunshot wounds, one to the chest and one to the shoulder. He also had injuries consistent with a car accident, several broken ribs, perforated lung. The biggest worry was the internal bleeding, his heart couldn’t take it any more, it’s a wonder it lasted as long as it did, someone must have been looking after him pretty well."

"So is he going to be okay?"

The doctor sighed, “It’s hard to tell, it’s a waiting came now, whether his body decides to shut down or keep fighting. The fact he made it through surgery is a good sign, he’s got some fight in him.”

"Can I see him?"

"Yes, he hasn’t come round from the anaesthesia yet, it’ll take him some time. His partner is sitting with him, he hasn’t left his side. I’m sure he could use the company."

Peter didn’t correct him, he’s definitely his partner just not the kind the doctor was thinking of. Peter made a mental note to wait until whoever he was had left, he was probably the one who got Neal to the hospital and Peter was willing to bet he was the one to alert the cops to Hall, he didn’t want to spook him.

It had been a clever cover up, impersonating an undercover cop would explain the delay in getting here and stop too many questions from being asked. They probably had the plan in place for emergencies like this, all the documents needed to sell the con on standby.

He saw an opening when Neal’s companion walked out to presumingly get some coffee, it looked like he was set on staying the night. Peter couldn’t help noticing the resemblance the short man had to the description of the authenticator. Walking into the room, Peter felt an incredible weight lift off his shoulders as he set eyes upon the peaceful young man and could witness for himself the rise and fall of his chest. He walked over to the bed taking comfort in the steady rhythm of the heart monitor attached to his chest. With the soft moonlight illuminating his face, Peter was taken back by how young and vulnerable Neal looked, aware he was seeing a rare glimpse into the man behind the suave persona he customarily wore. Peter reached over to gently sweep a couple of stray hairs away from his forehead.

“You did good kid. You did good,” he whispered.

Content that Neal was alive, Peter turned around to go home, but first he had a quick stop to make.

***

When Neal finally came round the first thing he realised was he felt the best he had done in days, his chest didn’t feel like it had a tonne of bricks on it, his lungs could take a breath without protesting. He was puzzled as to how he was in a hospital room but not handcuffed to the bed, interested to hear how Mozzie had spun it with the doctors.

His attention shifted to a get well soon card tucked away on his bedside table, his brow creased in confusion, the only person who knew he was here was Mozzie and he wasn’t the type for gift cards. Curiosity getting the better of him, he reached over to pick it up, wincing as the movement pulled on the IVs in his elbow. Opening it up he read the short message,

“ _Wishing you a speedy recovery”_

               _“Peter”_

Letting out a small scoff, he couldn’t help the weak smile that crept onto his face.

 

_The End_


End file.
